


One Night in Iowa

by Lillyjk



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Mechanic Clint Barton, Phil has a bad boy kink, businessman phil coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:01:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2842220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillyjk/pseuds/Lillyjk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God, he smelled good. Like sweat and alcohol and smoke. Like the kind of guy that Phil used to get in trouble over twenty-five years ago before he got shipped off to military school.</p><p>"I can pay, whatever you want." Phil said. He knew it was the wrong thing to say, or at least the wrong way to say it, as soon as the words came out of his mouth.</p><p>The guy lit his cigarette and took a big draw off it, leaning in close to look Phil in the eye. “I don’t need your money, New York.” He pinched the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger holding it just out of his mouth. “Maybe you got something else I want though.”</p><p>Phil was going to say no. He was forty-two. He had an American Express Black card. Over the years he had many successful relationships with other compatible men and women. He was totally over his bad boy phase.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night in Iowa

**Author's Note:**

> This was previously posted to tumblr but somehow never made it over here. AdamantSteve posted the gif I've included below, and my mind went here.

 

 

Phil pulled the car into the deserted parking lot of Hawkeye’s garage just as dusk was fading into night. There weren’t even street lights on this section of Iowa highway and if it had been any later he might have missed the place all together. One of the garage doors was down but the other one was half way up, a little light and the low thrum of classic rock pouring out. He got out of the car and walked to the glass entry door. It was locked and a hand-made closed sign complete with frowny face showed business hours had ended a good thirty minutes ago.

"Great." Phil muttered.

He backtracked to the half-open garage door and ducked under. What greeted him on the other side was a truly magnificent ass.

The guy was bent over, head and one hand buried in the guts of an old mustang. The other hand was wrapped around a bottle of beer. Phil stared at the hand for a minute, fascinated as a little drop of condensation from the bottle slid down between the grease smudged fingers.

Phil cleared his throat.

"What the fuck?" The guy straightened up, whirling to face Phil. "Where’d you come from?"

The guy was gorgeous, all sweaty hair and rugged features and a nose that had been broken at least once.

"New York." Phil said flatly. "I mean, I…it doesn’t matter. I’m having some car trouble and nothing’s open and—"

"Yeah, New York. Here’s a news flash, I’m not open either." The guy said just as flatly, killing his beer before tossing the bottle in a trash can with a dull thump. "You might have noticed that when you saw the closed sign and the locked door." He leaned into Phil’s space, reaching past him to grab a pack of cigarettes and a lighter off a counter just over Phil’s shoulder.

God, he smelled good. Like sweat and alcohol and smoke. Like the kind of guy that Phil used to get in trouble over twenty-five years ago before he got shipped off to military school.

"I can pay, whatever you want." Phil said. He knew it was the wrong thing to say, or at least the wrong way to say it, as soon as the words came out of his mouth.

The guy lit his cigarette and took a big draw off it, leaning in close to look Phil in the eye. “I don’t need your money, New York.” He pinched the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger holding it just out of his mouth. “Maybe you got something else I want though.”

Phil was going to say no. He was forty-two. He had an American Express Black card. Over the years he had many successful relationships with other compatible men and women. He was totally over his bad boy phase.

Instead when he opened his mouth to say no what came out was, “Please let me suck you.”

"Yeah." The guy said. "All right, New York. You can suck me with those pretty lips. Show me how they do it in the big city."

Phil started to go to his knees right then but the guy stopped him, put a hand in his hair and pulled him in for a sloppy kiss first. It was all tongue and spit and the taste of beer and cigarettes and it made Phil’s cock jump and strain against his suit pants. Then the guy pulled back and took another long draw off his cigarette and Phil did go to his knees.

He had a passing thought that the grease and oil on the concrete floor of the garage was definitely going to ruin his pants and then the guy was unzipping his jeans and pushing down a pair of briefs and Phil could’t think anymore. He leaned forward and buried his face in the guy’s crotch, nuzzling at the base of his cock with his nose where he could smell the musky odor of a man that had worked all day. He let his tongue slide out to lick a wet trail from base to tip, over and over, trying to cover every inch before opening his mouth and taking him in.

"Yeah, fuck!" The guy said, one hand coming down to rest on Phil’s shoulder, the other still holding the cigarette. He looked down at Phil and took a suck off it, the tip glowing red.

Phil worked one hand around the base of the guy’s cock, his thumb sliding down to press against his balls. He bobbed his head up and down, savoring the taste, the feel of a cock filling him up. His tongue slid around the flared head, tracing along the ridge of flesh. He could do this for hours, for days.

The guy’s hand on his shoulder tightened and he pulled out a second later, his come splashing hot against the collar of Phil’s shirt and his neck. Phil gasped at the feeling, the sudden hot spurt across his throat.

"Sorry," the guy muttered, only he didn’t seem sorry at all. "Didn’t know how you felt about a mouthful of come, New York." He tossed the cigarette down and stomped it under his workboot before reaching down and manhandling Phil to his feet.

Phil didn’t say anything, just let himself be pressed back against the wall. The guy crowded into him, kissed the corner of Phil’s mouth and then started licking his own come off Phil’s skin. One of his hands worked its way into Phil’s pants. It was strong and callused and in an embarrassingly quick amount of time Phil was coming across the guy’s palm.

They slumped together against the wall for another minute or two and then the guy straightened up, reaching to snag a shop towel to wipe his hand off.

He offered the towel to Phil and then his hand, “Name’s Clint Barton, by the way. This is my shop.”

Phil felt his mouth quirk at the corners. “Yeah, I maybe should have established that at the beginning. Phil Coulson.”

Clint smiled. “Of New York.”

Phil returned his smile with one of his own. “Actually, that’s kind of why I’m here. I’m being transferred to Des Moines at the end of the month. Supposed to be finding a place to live.”

Clint tilted his head to the side. “Well, aren’t you the lucky one. Just so happens my shop’s only about twenty minutes from downtown. I could maybe show you around. Seeing as how we’re already intimately acquainted and all. You like motorcycles?”

So yeah, Phil wasn’t over the bad boy thing at all.


End file.
